


Amethyst

by topazwinters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, IT'S SO FLUFFY, M/M, Seriously you guys, Wedding Fluff, also kind of sad in parts, but mostly just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topazwinters/pseuds/topazwinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's getting married to the love of his life, which is great and all, except the happy couple is absolutely <i>hopeless</i> at wedding planning. Which, of course, leaves it up to the long-suffering best man/future brother-in-law/best big brother in the world to play damage control and pull together a kickass wedding in six months... with the help of a pretentious, blue-eyed, Taylor Swift-listening asshole who Dean may or may not be falling in love with. Purple arguments, stolen cakes, and hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amethyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernalhorcrux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalhorcrux/gifts).



> Thalia was having a bad day, so I wrote her some destiel fluff. The number of wedding websites I visited while trying to write this is atrocious, and now Google keeps showing me ads for high quality wedding dresses in my area. I hope you're grateful.
> 
> (Also: it's exam week and everybody needs more Dean/Cas love in their life.)
> 
> Rated T for language. Reviews, comments, words of advice all welcome!

Dean still remembers when Sam met Jess – third year of college, he’d called Dean up at two in the morning and before Dean could say anything, he’d blurted out: “Dean, I’m in love.”

Which, okay, Dean could kind of see that – Sam’s always been a hopeless romantic, and Dean isn’t above admitting that hey, his little brother’s actually pretty attractive. Still, though, Dean was sceptical when he’d found out, if only because he couldn’t quite imagine anybody putting up with Sam’s freaky-ass habits that long (the dude ate rabbit food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for god’s sake. Who even does that in college?).

Except then Dean actually met Jess, and it all slotted into place: the nursing student Sammy was head-over-heels for was actually pretty damn awesome. And ridiculously in love with him. She made Sam happy, and what more could Dean ask for?

(If Dean was just the  _tiniest_ bit biased by the fact that she knew every single one of Led Zeppelin’s songs by heart, then that was his business and no one else’s.)

So now, four years later, when Sam and Jess show up on his doorstep the weekend before their last set of finals and drop the news, he’s not as freaked out as he might have been if it was anybody else  _but_ Jess.

“We’ve been talking about it for awhile, and –”

“I know it’s a bit of a shock, but we just wanted to –”

“It’s all happening so fast! We’re so –”

“It would have been a bigger surprise if he hadn’t –”

“You  _were_ surprised! That’s why you –”

And then Dean interjects: “You guys, I’m happy for you. Couldn’t be happier, actually.” He grins and adds, “Seriously, you’re disgustingly perfect for each other. Have you set the date?” 

So that’s how Dean ends up becoming the best man for Sam’s wedding.

Now, though, he’s seriously reconsidering the decision.

Because Sam and Jess are absolutely  _terrible_ at this wedding thing, so apparently it’s up to the best man to figure everything out and do damage control. Dean’s beginning to think it really was not the best decision on the happy couple’s part to schedule the wedding for six months after the engagement. How the hell is he supposed to pull together a kickass wedding in  _six months_ when Sam and Jess can’t make anything except for the most minor of decisions and heart eyes at each other? 

 

* * *

 

Oh, and to add insult to injury, apparently Jess also has a best man (does the bride even do that kind of thing? He thinks it’d be rude to ask her, and he’s sure as hell not going to talk to Sammy about it).

“Hey,” Dean says, sticking out his hand as Sam hovers behind him and Jess stands next to the guy. “I’m Dean. Sam’s brother. Nice to meet you.”

“Castiel,” the guy says, taking Dean’s hand and shaking it slowly. “Castiel Novak.”

Their first meeting is pretty uneventful – some awkward small talk, an exchange of phone numbers, Sam and Jess filling in all the spaces with longing looks at each other – but as the weeks pass Dean realises just how ridiculous the guy is. Dean has no idea how the hell Jess met somebody like Castiel Novak – he wasn’t given any details aside from “old family friend” – but Castiel is all blue eyes and stubble and sex hair, annoyingly attractive, pretentious, and stubborn. He’s perpetually pissed off at the world – and, by extension, at Dean.

Possibly the only upside to this situation is that he loves Jess just as fiercely as Dean loves Sam, and neither of them are going to let this wedding go to waste, however oblivious the couple in question are. Dean keeps telling himself that it’s only six months. He can put up with Castiel for six months if it means everything goes moderately well and Sam and Jess are happy.

Right?

 

* * *

 

Except it seems the universe is conspiring against Dean, because he needs to get  _everything_ done, and there’s no time to do it.

He’s never heard most of the names on the bridal party in his life, not even the ones on Sam’s side (“Do we even know a Jensen?” “Dude, you’ve met him like six times. He’s a friend from Stanford. Remember that one guy who everybody kept saying looked just like you?”).

Then the booking lady for the cathedral Sam and Jess want to get married in seems to take an immediate dislike to Dean, so he has to call three times and check that the date is still set.

Even Jess’ dress is hard to handle, since the store she buys it at is halfway across town and she doesn’t have a car. Dean has to chauffer her to and from the place, sitting in the corner dozing while she gets it fitted.

Before he knows it, a month’s passed, Sam and Jess are happily ignorant of all the problems, and Castiel still hasn’t helped Dean with  _anything_ (which Dean is slightly resentful for, because come  _on,_ he kind of figured the guy was arrogant and rude, but couldn’t he at least lend a hand?). The only things set are the time, venue, and bridal party. Even the save the date cards haven’t been printed yet, and Dean knows they’re pushing it on time.

And then – of course, of  _course –_ they don’t print.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry?” Dean says. 

He can almost hear the print shop lady on the other end of the line rolling her eyes. “Sir, I already told you, our colour printer is jammed and won’t be up and running for another week at least. There’s nothing I can do.”

Dean curses under his breath and hangs up.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying very hard not to panic. He can’t let Sam and Jess know about this, but he also can’t wait a week for the save the date cards to print. They still need to be addressed and sent, too – he’s read somewhere that you’re supposed to send them out at least six months before the wedding, and they’re already at five.

Dean picks up the phone again.

“Hello?” Castiel’s voice is a lot calmer than Dean feels.

“Listen,” he says without preamble. “I need your help.”

They haven’t really been interacting much, which Dean is grateful for. He doesn’t think he can stand more of Castiel than he’s already been subjected to, but this is an emergency.

“What is it?”

“The colour printer at the print shop is jammed. Do you have a car?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I’ll be there.” 

 

* * *

 

Castiel pulls up to Dean’s apartment in a lime green VW Bug, which, okay, Dean was  _not_ expecting that. He jumps into the car nevertheless and rattles off the address to another print shop, this one half an hour away.

As they pull away, Castiel comments, “I thought you had your own car.”

“I’m working on her right now,” Dean says. “Didn’t want to waste time on these, though – we need to send them as soon as possible.” He sighs and looks out the window as the world speeds by.

A few minutes later: “How is the wedding planning going?”

Dean laughs with no humour. “Terribly.”

“Sam and Jess believe things are running smoothly.”

“No  _way_ am I going to tell them. And you’re not either.”

“Why not?”

“Listen,” Dean says, “I love my brother, but he’s hopeless at all this. Better to let him think everything’s peachy.”

They pull up to the print shop and Castiel nods, thoughtful, as he cuts the engine. “So you want to spare him the stress and take it on yourself instead.”

Dean stumbles on that one. His voice sounds loud in the sudden silence. “Well, it’s not like  _that._ You make me sound like a martyr or something.” He chuckles uncomfortably, grabs the memory stick with the cards, and opens the car door. “Come on, let’s get these babies printed.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Dean’s addressing the cards and trying to ignore the cramps in his hand when there’s a knock on the door.

He stands up, stretches, and meanders over. When he opens it, there’s Castiel, looking supremely uncomfortable in his trenchcoat and blue tie.

“Uh,” Dean says, not entirely sure while Castiel is here.

“I thought you might be in need of assistance,” Castiel says quietly. “With addressing the save the date cards, that is. If you’re not finished already.”

It takes Dean a moment to answer because um, what the  _fuck._ This is the first time Castiel’s actually offered any help, and Dean doesn’t really know how to reply.

“Sure, I guess,” he says at last. “Come on in.”

Castiel walks into Dean’s apartment, sharp blue eyes taking in everything, and looks at the stack of finished envelopes. Before Dean can do anything, he rolls his eyes, picks them up, and tosses them into the nearby trashcan.

“What the hell was that?” Dean half-yells. “I worked hard on those!”

“Your handwriting is atrocious,” Castiel says icily. “Please pass me that pen.”

Dean grumbles under his breath, but hands over the pen. What an asshole.

Two hours later, all the cards are stamped and addressed. Dean refuses to admit that Castiel’s precise handwriting is actually a lot better than his illegible scrawl, because that is  _not true at all._

 

* * *

 

“She said lilac, Dean.”

“Hell no. She said mauve.”

Castiel sighs gustily. “You barely know the difference between navy and black. I am telling you, she said  _lilac.”_

Dean bristles. “Just ‘cause I own a leather jacket and drive a badass car does  _not_ mean I don’t know what my soon-to-be-sister-in-law wants for her bridesmaids’ dresses. She said mauve.”

“You are simply afraid of being wrong.”

“No,  _you’re_ too stubborn to admit that you are.”

“Your memory is affected.”

“Shut up! You don’t know me!” Dean says. It’s pathetic even to his ears.

“She said lilac,” Castiel repeats.

They end up going with amethyst, which, in Dean’s opinion, is a prettier colour than lilac or mauve anyway. When the bridesmaids’ dresses are delivered, the girls love them and Jess is delighted.

“Thank you so much for arranging this, you guys,” she says. “The colour is gorgeous.”

Castiel and Dean shoot each other dirty looks.

“I maintain that she said lilac,” Castiel hisses, and before Dean can retort, he’s being pulled away by Jess to coo over how beautiful the bridesmaids look in their amethyst dresses.

 

* * *

 

Three months left and finally things seem to be going the right way – except then the music happens. 

Sam and Jess are pretty vague about what they want, so that basically leaves it up to Dean and Castiel to figure out the playlist. The budget doesn’t include a band, which in Dean’s opinion is probably a good thing. The songs he wants can only be played to perfection by one band, so speakers it is.

But of course, Castiel refuses to comply.

“The fuck, dude?” Dean says, staring in horror at the list of songs Castiel has compiled. “We’re  _not_ playing Taylor Swift.”

“Well, we certainly aren’t playing Led Zeppelin,” Castiel retorts, Dean’s list in hand.

“Neither of them even likes Taylor Swift!”

“Sam does,” Castiel points out. “He just retitles the songs on his iPod so you don’t tease him.”

Dean files that away for future reference and then says, “As if I don’t hear her enough on the radio. You want to let her taint the wedding, too?”

“It’s not as if Led Zeppelin is prime slow dance material,” Castiel says, infuriatingly condescending.

They glare at each other. They seem to do that a lot.

Finally Dean throws his hands in the air. “You get two Taylor Swift songs,” he growls. “And if you include  _anything_ by 5 Seconds of Summer, I will personally come to your house and shoot you in the dead of night. I know where you live. It would be a mercy killing.”

He’s  _almost_ gratified when Castiel rewards him with one of his rare smiles. “My music taste is impeccable,” Castiel intones. “I’m offended that you believe I would stoop to the level of boy bands.”

Which leaves Dean staring after him as Castiel walks over to Dean’s desk and roots around for a pen, because he’s about 200% sure that this is the first time Castiel’s  _ever_ made a joke.

It’s a good look on him, Dean thinks.

(Smiling, that is. Castiel’s jokes aren’t funny.)

 

* * *

 

A week later, Dean pulls up to Castiel’s house and honks. It only takes a moment for the front door to open and Castiel to stroll up to the Impala, open the door, and sit in the passenger seat. “You have a very nice car,” he tells Dean.

“Hell yeah, I do,” Dean says proudly. “She’s gorgeous.”

As they pull away, he turns the radio on. “Traveling Riverside Blues” blares out and Dean grins. “This is my favourite song!”

Castiel scowls at him, all good humour gone. “My ears are hurting.”

Dean turns up the volume and smirks.

When they reach the florist, Dean parks his car and they walk through the door, immediately bombarded with the sickly sweet scent of flowers. The bell ringing above the door doesn’t seem to bother the kid sitting at the cashier, no more than 17 or 18, headphones on and computer open. In the quiet shop, Dean can hear Taylor Swift’s voice filtering through the headphones, and he steals a glance at Castiel. Sure enough, the guy looks pleased already, and Dean knows this isn’t going to be fun.

Castiel leads the way over to the desk and taps on the girl’s shoulder. She starts and looks up, black curls bouncing on her shoulders as she slams the computer shut – but not before Dean sees the screen.

“Were you Googling  _male models?”_ Dean says.

The girl grins and completely ignores the question. “Can I help you?” she asks brightly, pushing her big black glasses further up her nose.

Castiel seems to like her, despite Dean’s immediate reservations. He smiles at the girl ( _why does he smile at_ her _so quickly?_  some part of Dean whispers, jealously spiking to the surface). “Hello. We’re looking for flowers for a wedding.”

The girl half-jumps out of her chair, she’s so excited, and Dean edges surreptitiously away. “Oh!” she says, grinning ear to ear. “I’m so happy for you! When’s the wedding?”

Dean can feel his ears turning red. If the earth’s planning on swallowing him up anytime soon, right about now would be perfect.  _“No,”_ he says, trying not to yell. “It’s not us.”

She looks hurt for a moment, but then Castiel steps in smoothly. “I’m sorry about him,” he stage whispers. “He’s a Led Zeppelin fan. You know how they are.”

Before Dean can reply, the girl giggles. “Yeah, I see what you mean. You a swiftie?”

“Okay, what the hell is a –”

“Of course,” Castiel says, cutting Dean off. “Her lyrics are nothing short of extraordinary."

“Guess what?” the girl says, practically glowing. “My initials are the same as hers.”

Dean steps into the conversation before it can get too weird (which, okay, he’s pretty sure it’s already  _way_ past weird and flying straight into I-could-either-tease-Castiel-about-this-for-the-rest-of-his-life-or-pretend-it-never-happened-and-I-don’t-know-which-would-be-more-gratifying territory). “Uh, if you guys don’t mind, I believe we have a job to do?” He tugs on Castiel’s coat sleeve. “Seriously, man, save the Taylor Swift obsession for later.”

The girl steps out from behind the desk, though she looks slightly crestfallen to have her fangirling session aborted. “Who’s this for, then?”

“It’s for Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore,” Castiel says. “I believe Jessica called ahead and said that we were coming to finalise the flowers she and Sam had picked out?”

The girl turns and rummages behind the desk, then pulls out a clipboard. “You’re… Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Great! Right this way, please.”

They go through the flowers. Everything’s in order, and Dean heaves a sigh of relief that at least this is something he doesn’t have to organise. If he gets into one more shouting match with Castiel over shades of purple, he thinks his face is going to turn mauve. ( _Not_ lilac.)

“Okay, so you’re going to need to come in and pick up the flowers the day before the wedding, or the day of if you prefer,” the girl tells them at the door. “Here, just sign this form and bring it back to us and we won’t need to ask any questions – you can just grab the flowers and go.” She hands them a piece of paper and they both scrawl their signatures at the bottom, Dean pocketing it.

“Alright, that’s all!” the girl says. “See you in a few months!”

Castiel smiles  _(again,_  the traitorous part of Dean reminds him). “Goodbye.”

“See you, Cas,” the girl says, smiling back. “Bye, Dean.” She walks back over to the cash register, opening up her computer again – presumably to continue Googling male models – and turns her music back on, totally unaware of the slightly shell-shocked look on Castiel’s face.

“You know, Castiel,” Dean whispers as they walk out the door, “Nicknames are a thing. You don’t need to look like you just discovered a flying monkey.” He can’t resist adding, slightly venomously, “Besides, if you like her so much, what’s so bad about it?”

Castiel throws him a confused look at his tone, but doesn’t say anything more. They get into the car and Dean turns the music back on, sighing with relief at the blessed Zeppelin chords filtering through.

Castiel’s look could burn holes through metal, but Dean just throws him a shit-eating grin. “House rules,  _Cas,”_ he says. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

He hums along with the music all the way back home.

 

* * *

 

One month and the invitations are sent out (Dean thanks his stars that at least that part is uneventful, though Castiel still insists on addressing the envelopes). Time passes in a blur of cake and wine tasting, dress fittings, caterers, and RSVPs. Dean and Castiel mutter insults at each other over the bridesmaids’ heads and Castiel somehow endears himself to the flower girls, who constantly bring him scribbled drawings and pieces of chocolate. Dean listens to way too much Taylor Swift for his own good and tries not to think about how in a month, all this will be over, Sam and Jess will be saying their vows, and Castiel –

He stops the thought right there and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He’ll just call the cathedral one more time and make sure the date and time are finalised.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes in the middle of the night.

He rolls over in bed and turns to his alarm clock – 3:27 in the morning, and no sane person should be up this late. He buries his head under the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get back to sleep again.

He’s just drifting off when suddenly his eyes snap open and he realises what woke him up in the first place.

 _“Shit,”_ Dean whispers.

He bolts upright, grabs his phone from the nightstand, and presses 3 on speed dial. He’s running on autopilot, still half asleep, so he doesn’t exactly think about how his go-to person for all things wedding related is probably –

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounds groggy. “Why are you calling me so late?”

“We forgot the bridesmaids’ and groomsmen’s gifts, Cas!” Dean says. “They’re not on that to-do list you made, and you know Sam and Jess aren’t going to get them.”

There’s silence on the other end for a minute, and finally Castiel groans. “Dean,” he says, sounding supremely pissed off. “You called me at 3:30 AM to tell me that we need to buy gifts for a wedding that is not for another two weeks.”

Dean spares a moment to be embarrassed before saying, “Well, it’s important. We can’t forget.”

Castiel exhales sharply. “Yes, Dean. I know.”

Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that, and since he’s feeling pretty stupid at this point, he decides the best way to go would probably be to terminate the conversation. “Uh. So, yeah. That’s all. I guess I’m gonna go now?”

“You’re truly worried about this wedding, aren’t you?” Castiel says.

Dean forces a laugh. “Worried? Hell no. We’ve got this under control.”

“You want Sam and Jessica to have the best wedding possible.”

Dean wonders whether Castiel’s a mind reader or something. It would explain a lot. “Well, yeah,” he says, still trying for the who-gives-a-shit voice. “I mean, don’t you?”

“But you believe it won’t be good enough for them.”

It’s like Castiel isn’t even listening to him, Dean thinks. “I’m not worried, okay, Cas?” he snaps, and it comes out harsher than he’d meant it to. “I’m fine.”

“All right, Dean,” Castiel says after a moment, his voice subdued, and Dean hates that he feels bad. “You should sleep.”

“Whatever,” Dean says gruffly. “We need to get the gifts tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

He hangs up the phone and lies there in the dark, thinking and not thinking.

 

* * *

 

The wedding day dawns bright and sunny and  _way_ too perfect for Dean’s taste.

It’s a Thursday, the wedding at 4 PM and the reception at 5. Dean knows the schedule, has read it over and over until he’s pretty sure he’s memorised it, but still he’s nervous, jumpy – probably even more so than Sam, who wakes up and looks like he’s either going to run away screaming or start singing show tunes. Maybe both.

“Could you and Castiel pick up the flowers and cake before the ceremony tomorrow?” Jess asked Dean the night before, and at the time Dean had been grateful for some sort of job to keep his mind off what was looming ahead, but right now he’s not sure it’s the best idea. With their luck, the cake will probably get thrown out the car window or something.

Still, he pulls up in front of Castiel’s place at 1 PM sharp – Jess assured him it was ample time to pick up both the flowers and the cake – and Castiel is waiting for him on the sidewalk, wearing the oversized trenchcoat as always. He steps into the car, the motion smooth by now, and doesn’t say a word as Dean hits the gas.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asks once they’re well on their way. 

“Me?” Dean says. “’Course I am.”

He turns up the music and refuses to look at the expression on Castiel’s face.

They reach the florist a few minutes later. The person at the cashier isn’t the Taylor Swift girl – Castiel looks slightly disappointed at that – but another, stern looking woman with horn-rimmed glasses. She looks down her nose at Dean and Castiel and says, “May I help you with something, young men?”

Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t been called a  _young man_ since he was 10, but he rolls with it. “Uh, yeah, we’re here to pick up flowers for Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore?”

The woman raises an eyebrow and holds out a hand.

Dean stares at the hand uncomprehendingly. He wonders if she wants a high five.

“The form we signed,” Castiel says. “Give it to her.”

“Shit,” Dean whispers.

Castiel closes his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did,” Dean says.

Half an hour later, Dean’s back at the florist again. He’s pretty sure he might have run two or three red lights and maybe a stop sign along the way, but oh well, he’s got the form and they still have some time to spare before the wedding, and that’s what matters, right? He shoves the paper into the lady’s hand and says, “There it is. Now can we  _please_ have the flowers?”

For a minute it looks like she’s going to start screaming at him, but she shuffles slowly to the back and hands them over. “There you go,” she says frostily. “Enjoy.”

 

* * *

 

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean growls as they walk out to the Impala.

Castiel looks at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it,” Dean says, and he gets into the car and slams the door shut before Castiel can reply. Castiel isn’t the only one who can read minds, Dean thinks sullenly.

Castiel gets into the car, radiating with displeasure. “I trust you haven’t forgotten where the bakery is,” he says.

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says again, and hits the gas.

 

* * *

 

They reach the bakery in good time, and Dean’s almost relaxed – it looks like the time they lost scrambling to get the form for the flowers has been gained back. He and Castiel walk through the door of the bakery. There’s an array of pastries in glass cases in the front and a door marked KITCHEN in the back, along with a white cake sitting inside an open cardboard box, but there’s nobody in sight.

Dean walks over to the kitchen door. “Hello?” he says. “Um, customers here?”

Nobody answers.

“Do you suppose this is ours?” Castiel asks from where he’s standing in front of the cake. “Jessica picked it out, and I didn’t get the opportunity to look at it.”

“Beats me, man,” Dean says, coming to stand next to him. “I didn’t see it either.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Jess’ number, then Sam’s. No answer from either – they’re probably both getting ready.

Dean and Castiel look at each other for a minute.

“Hello?” Dean calls again, hyper-aware of the ticking clock.

“There’s no one there,” Castiel states.

Dean makes up his mind. “Oh, what the hell,” he says, and gingerly picks up the cake box. He closes the box and carries it towards the door, looking behind him when he sees that Castiel isn’t following. “Cas, come on! We gotta get going!”

“Dean, I’m not sure it would be the wisest decision to –”

“Look, if you have a better plan I’m all ears. But sitting here twiddling our thumbs and waiting for somebody to appear isn’t going to cut it, and I sure as hell am not going to be late to my brother’s wedding.” He pushes open the door with one foot. “Come  _on.”_

Finally Castiel trails behind him, casting multiple looks into the empty bakery. “If we get arrested for stealing,” he grumbles as Dean manoeuvres the cake into the car, “it will be your fault.”

“Yeah, think I’m gonna take that risk,” Dean shoots back. He piles the cake and flowers onto Castiel’s lap and shuts the door. “Now come on, we have to get to the wedding.”

 

* * *

 

They’re on the way to the cathedral with an hour to spare when Dean sees something in the corner of his eye.

“Son of a  _bitch,”_ he says, loud and furious, and Castiel, whose vision is obscured by the cake box, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “What is it this time?”

Dean doesn’t answer, but he pulls over into a side road and cuts the engine. The blue lights of the police car pull up behind them, and Castiel groans. “Dean, I  _told_ you this would –”

The policewoman taps on the car window. Dean rolls it down and looks up into her face. “Yes, ma’am?” he asks, still firm in his knowledge that he hasn’t said that word since he was 10.

“Show me your driver’s licence and registration, please,” the woman says, no nonsense, and Dean digs into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the card, handing it over to her.

“That’s an embarrassing photo, officer,” he says as the woman studies his face. “I wouldn’t –”

She gives him a  _look._ Dean shuts up.

“70 in a 60 zone,” she says at last. “And stealing, too.”

“Wait, what?” Dean says. “We didn’t steal anything!”

“I believe you may be mistaking him for someone else,” Castiel says, muffled behind the cake box. “Aside from this unfortunate incident, his record is completely clean.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “You want to say that to this guy?”

She beckons to her police car, and an older man comes out, eyes narrowed. As he gets a glimpse of who – and  _what_ – is in the car, he starts yelling in German.

Dean closes his eyes as the bakery owner shouts at them. “Cas,” he says. “Feel free to murder me when this is over.”

“Considering present company, it was likely not the best decision to make that joke, Dean.”

“You stole a  _cake_ and then sped,” the policewoman says, voice dripping with contempt. “Amateurs at best.”

“Uh, actually,” Dean says, “This is all a big mistake. We’re not criminals.”

“Really,” the policewoman says. 

“I mean, it’s – it’s my brother’s wedding today and it was our job to pick up the cake and flowers,” Dean explains. “I just – I mean, we were running late and nobody was in the bakery, so we just grabbed the first cake we saw. I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “ _I_ grabbed it. This is pretty much all my fault, but it’s a mistake. An honest mistake, I swear. And I never speed. I just wanted to get to the wedding as quickly as possible.”

He closes his eyes for a minute when the policewoman’s glare is unwavering, and he can’t keep just the tiniest bit of desperation from slipping into his voice. “Please let us go, officer. We can’t be late to this.”

Finally she turns to the bakery owner. “Well?” she says. “If you want I can charge them with petty theft, take them to the station, and fine them. Or I can let them off with just a ticket. Your choice.”

Dean turns his pleading gaze to the man. “Please,” he says again. “We have to go.”

The man glowers at both of them for a moment, but at last he grunts in broken English, “Come with me. Pick up correct cake. Then you go to wedding.”

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He automatically turns to Cas, who looks shocked and ecstatic all at once. “Thank you,” Dean says. “Thank you so much.”

The policewoman only nods and writes them a ticket. “Be careful,” she says. “You dodged a bullet. Next time you won’t get let off so easily.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I know.”

The woman points to the ticket. “Instructions for paying your fine are written on there. Don’t forget.” She walks away from them, and the bakery owner opens the car door and plops inside. “To my bakery,” he says. 

Dean pulls away, but before he can get far, the policewoman calls out, “Mr. Winchester!”

Dean stops, pokes his head out the window. “Yeah?”

“Good luck at the wedding.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, and he grins as he rolls up the window. Castiel is looking at him as they drive back to the bakery, the German owner muttering to himself.

Dean drives at exactly 60 miles per hour.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, there you are!” Jess says as Dean and Castiel walk into the room. “I was wondering what was taking you guys so long." 

“Don’t worry, Jessica,” Castiel says. “We’re here now and everything is in order.”

She shoots him a strange look. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason at all!” Dean cuts in.

She frowns at both of them. “Nothing went wrong while you were getting the cake and flowers, right?”

Dean and Castiel look at each other.

“Nope,” Dean says evenly. “It all went fine. Stop worrying so much, Jess.”

She still looks suspicious, but she drops it, looking into the mirror as the stylist twists her hair into braids. “Alright, you guys. Whatever you say. Oh, Dean, Sam wanted to see you. Not sure what it’s about.”

“Got it,” Dean says, carefully putting the cake and flowers down. “Cas, don’t get into too much trouble. See you later, Jess. You look beautiful.”

 

* * *

 

He finds Sam with his head in his hands, trying very hard not to hyperventilate as the guests mill around and make small talk. “Dude,” Dean says, “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to puke.”

“Dean, I can’t do this,” Sam says.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Uh, it’s a little late to be having second thoughts.”

“No, it’s not – I mean, Jess is – amazing. Gorgeous. Funny. Everything I ever – it’s just, I don’t know if I can go through all of –”

Dean grabs his brother’s shoulders and shakes him. “Stop it, Sammy. It’s one day. Nothing’s going to go wrong. All you need to do is get up there and say your vows and kiss your girl. Then you dance with her and drink wine and talk to everybody about how awesome she is. And then you guys pile into a car and have sex for a week and then you come back and start living your life. You’re gonna kick ass.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s that easy,”he says.

“You’re my little brother,” Dean says. “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t even –" 

“Shut up,” Dean interrupts. “I’ll look out for you, Sammy. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

And then Jess is walking down the aisle.

It feels almost surreal, but Dean and Castiel are standing beside Sam (Dean  _still_ doesn’t know how this whole oh-hey-there-are-two-best-men-instead-of-one thing actually works out, but oh well, too late to question it now) as the bridesmaids in their amethyst dresses and the groomsmen in their tuxedos stand on either side of the altar.

Afternoon sunlight streams down through the stained glass windows. The vows are a blur, Sam’s voice low and strong next to Dean, and Jess is smiling radiantly as she says her part.

The ring bearer toddles up, and Sam ever so carefully takes the ring from the pillow and slips it onto Jess’ finger. It glints in the light.

The priest’s voice rings out around the cathedral: “You may kiss the bride."

Sam is smiling as he leans down and kisses Jess. As the applause begins, Dean and Castiel catch each other’s eyes, and even through the glowing happiness that threatens to blind Dean, there’s an emptiness there too that he can’t ignore.

He breaks eye contact and looks back over at Sam and Jess. The wedding is perfect. Everything is in its place, despite all the delays. The bride and groom couldn’t be happier.

So why can’t Dean force the ache out of his chest?

 

* * *

 

Dean is watching Castiel and Jess dance at the reception (and  _wow,_ it’s weird to see Castiel wearing a tux) when Sam walks up to him. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Dean replies, unable to pull his eyes away from where Castiel’s are glowing. Why is it that everybody except him is able to make Castiel smile?

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says automatically. “I’m great. And you did awesome at the ceremony, by the way. Told you it would go fine.”

But Sam refuses to take the bait. “Don’t change the subject, Dean,” he says.

“I’m not! I just – I just wanted to tell you.”

Sam smiles. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel and Jess. “What?”

Sam looks at him. “Dean, I think you heard me.”

Dean closes his eyes, thinks about Castiel and his stupid music and his stupid trenchcoat and his stupid smile and his stupid way of being right all the goddamn time.

He runs a hand over his mouth and exhales sharply, suddenly unbearably sad. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

The song ends. Castiel and Jess make their way off the dance floor, talking and laughing, and Dean doesn’t know why he still can’t take his eyes off of Castiel.

Then all at once Sam is pushing him in Castiel’s direction, and Dean stumbles and grabs holds of Castiel’s lapels, and as Dean stands up he realises they’re closer than they’ve ever been and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel.

He moves away a little. “I, uh,” he says. “Sorry. Just lost my balance.”

Castiel doesn’t reply for a minute. And then, as the next song starts, he says quietly, “Would you like to dance?”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, because on one hand, yeah, he very much would like to dance with Castiel, but on the other, he knows already how easy it would be to mess this up, and he can’t lose Castiel. He can’t.

Sam, standing in the background, gives him a thumbs up and mouths,  _you’re gonna kick ass,_ and finally Dean finds his voice.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s dance, Cas."

It’s a slow dance – not one of the Zeppelin songs – but Dean can’t be too annoyed, since that means he pretty much just gets to stand and sway against Cas. Also, there’s less of an opportunity to trip over his own feet, which he isn’t exactly protesting.

And then the singing starts. Dean does what comes naturally: he buries his face in Castiel’s chest in an admittedly half-assed attempt to drown it out. “Fuckin’ Taylor Swift,” he says. “Seriously, Cas?”

He can feel Castiel’s rumbling laughter, and then it hits him: he just  _buried his face in Castiel’s chest._ And Castiel didn’t even flinch.

Suddenly Dean thinks he could really come to like Taylor Swift.

“So it worked,” Castiel says.

“Hm?” Dean says, raising his head again.

“Six months and a clueless bride and groom, and yet you managed to pull it all together.” 

 _“We_  did,” Dean says, and then adds, before he can lose the nerve, “Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“Yes,” Castiel says simply.

They dance some more, Taylor Swift crooning in the background. Just as Dean is about to say something, Castiel cocks his head to the side and asks: “Dean, are you happy?”

It shocks Dean into silence for a split second, and he considers lying, but Castiel is pretty good at detecting those. Besides, Dean is kind of tired of lying anyway.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “I’m happy Sam is happy, but I just…”

“But what?”

Dean looks at Castiel. His eyes are very blue.

“But I kind of want something else, too.”

Dean thinks Castiel is breathing faster. “What’s that?”

He smiles. “Cas, you’re practically a goddamn mind reader. I think you know.”

Castiel is silent for so long that Dean considers taking it back, laughing it off even though it was the farthest thing from a joke. But finally, so quietly that Dean almost doesn’t hear him, Castiel says, “Yes. I think I do too.”

And with that, he leans down and kisses Dean.

It’s soft and chaste and perfect, and Dean feels something slotting into place that wasn’t there before.

Maybe it’s the fact that finally,  _finally,_ Cas is smiling against Dean’s lips.

Dean thinks that maybe if this is what it takes to coax out that smile, he can accommodate.

 

* * *

  

Sam and Jess pull out of the reception in their car. Jess watches the rearview mirror as, amid the clapping guests, Dean and Castiel kiss again.

“They can’t keep their lips off each other,” she says. “Seriously, Sam, I don’t think we’re the only ones having a honeymoon here.”

Sam laughs. “Took them long enough to figure it out. You think they guessed?”

“I’m pretty sure the fact that we said we didn’t care about our  _wedding music_ must have set some alarm bells ringing. I mean, come on, they must have been just a little bit suspicious.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They can be pretty clueless. Just the fact that it took them this long to get their heads out of their asses says something.”

“It all worked out, though. All those extra errands we sent them on.”

“You know they stole a cake?”

_“What?”_

“Oh, yeah. I got a frantic call from the bakery owner. Apparently Dean and Castiel almost got arrested for speeding  _and_ stealing. Idiots.”

Jess shakes her head. “They told me everything was – and I quote – ‘in order.’”

Sam takes one hand off the steering wheel and intertwines his fingers with Jess’. “We’ll see if they ever work out what really happened. Honestly, at this point I think they probably believe we’re the most clueless couple in bridal history.”

Jess giggles. “Well, we’ll see what happens when  _they_ set the date, won’t we?" 

“We might have to do some crisis management there, too. You ready?” 

“Oh, I think those two have proven that can handle themselves for now.” Jess smiles as Sam drops a kiss on her head. “Don’t worry about them, Sam. They’ll be fine. They always are.”


End file.
